Each carriage was announced, and Ladies | But Juan, sitting silent in his nook, rose, And curtsying off, as curtsies country-dame, Retired with most unfashionable bows Their docile esquires also did the same, Delighted with the dinner and their host, But with the Lady Adeline the most. Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity Was obvious in each feature of her face, Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity. Yes; She was truly worthy her high place! No one could envy her deserved prosperity; And then her dress-what beautiful simplicity Draperied her form with curious felicity! Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their More joy than from all future pride or praises, By an impartial indemnification And families, even to the last relation; Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses, And truculent distortion of their tresses. True, she said little-'twas the rest that Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted broke Forth into universal epigram: Her own but served to set off every joke, I ask but this of mine, to-not defend. There were but two exceptions to this keen 'Tis true he saw Aurora look as though She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook Its motive for that charity we owe dart Of Eros; but, though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Still we respect thee," AlmaVenus Genetrix!" And full of sentiments, sublime as billows Heaving between this world and worlds beyond, Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows The night was as before; he was undrest, In short, he hardly could be clothed with less; And not in vain listen'd-Hush! what 's that? I see I see- -Ah, no!-'tis not-yet 'tis Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat! The devil may take that stealthy pace of his! So like a spiritual pit-a-pat, The door flew wide, not swiftly-but, as fly Half letting in long shadows on the light, stood Again-what is 't? The wind? No, no,- Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken The night before; but, being sick of shaking, He first inclined to think he had been mistaken, And then to be ashamed of such mistaking; His own internal ghost began to awaken Within him, and to quell his corporal quaking Hinting, that soul and body on the whole Were odds against a disembodied soul. And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath fierce; And he arose, advanced—the shade retreated; But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce, Follow'd; his veins no longer cold, but heated, Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce, At whatsoever risk of being defeated: The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone-still. Juan put forth one arm-Eternal Powers! It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall, On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall: He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal. How odd, a single hobgoblin's non-entity Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity! But still the shade remain'd; the blue eyes glared, And rather variably for stony death; Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath. A straggling curl show'd he had been fairhair'd; A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath, leam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud The moon peep'd, just escaped from a gray cloud. And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust His other arm forth--Wonder upon wonder! It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust, Which beat as if there was a warm heart under. He found, as people on most trials must, That he had made at first a silly blunder, And that in his confusion he had caught Only the wall instead of what he sought. The ghost, if ghost it were,seem'd a sweet soul Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl, And they reveal'd (alas! that e'er they should!) In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, The phantom of her frolic Grace-FitzFulke! THE ISLAND. CANTO I THE morningwatch was come; the vessel lay Her course, and gently made her liquid way; The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow In furrows form'd by that majestic plough; The waters with their world were all before; Behind, the South Sea's many an islet-shore. The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane, Dividing darkness from the dawning main; The dolphins, not unconscious of the day, Swam high, as eager of the coming ray; The stars from broader beams began to creep, And lift their shining eyelids from the deep; The sail resumed its lately-shadow'd white, And the wind flutter'd with a freshening flight; The purpling ocean owns the coming SunBut, ere he break, a deed is to be done. The gallant Chief within his cabin slept, Secure in those by whom the watch was kept: His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore, Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er; His name was added to the glorious roll Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole. The worst was over, and the rest seem'd sure, And why should not his slumber be secure? Alas! his deck was trod by unwilling feet, And wilder hands would hold the vessel's sheet; Young hearts, which languish'd for some sunny isle, Where summer years and summer women smile; And, half-uncivilized, preferr'd the cave Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave; The gushing fruits that Nature gave untill'd; The wood without a path but where they will'd; The field o'er which promiscuous Plenty pour'd Her horn; the equal land without a lord; The wish-which ages have not yet subdued In man- to have no master save his mood; The Earth, whose mine was on its face, unsold The glowing sun and produce all its gold; The freedom which can call each grot a home; The general garden, where all steps may roam, Where Nature owns a nation as her child, Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild; Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth they know; Their unexploring navy, the canoe; Their sport, the dashing breakers and the chase; Their strangest sight, an European face: Such was the country which these strangers yearn'd To see again—a sight they dearly earn'd. Awake, bold Bligh! the foe is at the gate! Awake! awake!--Alas! it is too late! Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear. Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast, The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest; Dragg'd o'er the deck, no more at thy command shall veer, the sail expand; Men without country, who, too long The obedient helm Had found no native home, or found it That savage spirit, 1 estranged, changed, which would lull by wrath Its desperate escape from duty's path, The friendly hearts, the feasts without a toil, Glares round thee, in the scarce-believing The courteous manners but from Nature Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid, But they who pitied not could yet admire; They would not dip their souls at once in But left thee to the mercies of the flood. The launch is crowded with the faithful Who wait their Chief, a melancholy crew: "Hoist out the boat!" was now the lead-Of that proud vessel-now a moral wreck-- er's cry; Her only cargo such a scant supply But treasures all to Hermits of the brine, And now the self-elected Chief finds time To stun the first sensation of his crime, And raise it in his followers-"Ho! the bowl!" Lest passion should return to reason's shoal. No doubt a liquid path to epic fame; “Huzza! for Otaheite!" was the cry; And view'd their Captain's fate with piteous eyes; While others scoff'd his augur'd miseries, The surge, is safe-his port is in the deep- When all was now prepared, the vessel Which hail'd her master in the mutineer- Which felt exhaustion's deep and bitter But, soon observed, this guardian was Nor further Mercy clouds Rebellion's dawn. And, pointing to the helpless prow beneath, In that last moment could a word recal Was now his grateful sense of former care? His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy ""Tis that! 'tis that! I am in Hell! in Hell!" No more he said; but, urging to the bark His Chief, commits him to his fragile ark: These the sole accents from his tongue that fell, But volumes lurk'd below his fierce farewell. The arctic sun rose broad above the wave; The breeze now sunk, now whisper'd from his cave; Where all partake the earth without dispute, The Goldless Age, where Gold disturbs no Inhabits or inhabited the shore, Till Europe taught them better than before, As on the Æolian harp, his fitful wings strings. With slow, despairing oar, the abandon'd skiff Ploughs its drear progress to the scarce- Which lifts its peak a cloud above the main: Their manly courage, even when deem'd more; The varying frowns and favours of the Deep, creep With crazy oar and shatter'd strength along Above their naked bones, and feels delight To tell as true a tale of dangers past, Away with this! behold them as they were, Extends its arch before the growing gale; ease. Thus Argo plough'd the Euxine's virgin foam; But those she wafted still look'd back to home These spurn their country with their rebel And fly her as the raven fled the ark; CANTO II. How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai, When summer's sun went down the coral bay! Come, let us to the islet's softest shade, And hear the warbling birds! the damsels said: The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, Like voices of the gods from Bolotoo: We'll call the flowers that grow above the dead, |